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One of the funniest 3 minutes of cinema, in my humble opinion, is a dinner scene in The Nutty Professor, where the grandma of the family challenges her son, Cletus, to come around to her side of the table to settle an argument. She tells him with extreme confidence that “you walk over, but you’re limping back.”
It’s pretty scary, entering into a fight against an opponent you know you can’t beat. They will impose their will on you. They will defeat you. There’s no way to escape affliction. Cletus knew what his mom said was the truth. If he walked over, he’d be limping back!” He talked a good game, but in the end, he let that fear nail him to his seat. He was not about to get within arms reach of that feisty old lady.
I can identify with Cletus. With the fear he felt. It’s the same fear I felt when God was summoning me to engage with Him. To come around the table and wrestle with Him.
Jacob famously wrestled with God and forever walked with a limp afterward, a continual reminder of the wisdom he received during that encounter. No doubt, if you come around the table to wrestle with God, you will limp back. It’s a fact. I knew this was the truth. Like Cletus, I sat in my chair and refused to move closer to God. Not wanting to be afflicted with a limp.
This is where the comparison with Cletus ends. It was probably a smart move for him to stay seated. But when it’s God and not Grandma issuing the challenge, not answering the call is short sighted at best. The alternative, if we refuse to wrestle, is to be caged by sin. Paralyzed by fear, shame, guilt, resentment and a host of other negative emotions. Enslaved by our past, taken out by our wounds.
It’s okay to be afraid. But here’s what you have to do about it:
It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God…do not cast away your confidence…you have need of endurance, so that after you have done the will of God, you may receive the promise. – Hebrews 10: 31-36
It is an illusion to believe that we are walking just fine without God. If we try to just go along with our life, just push down the darkness, just shove those painful memories in a corner, just minimize and rationalize our behavior, just ignore the hurt, we in essence will be rendered unable to walk at all. Emotionally crippled. Paralyzed. Because we didn’t want to endure the pain of walking with a limp. Of engaging in our own work, dealing with our own stuff, and allowing God to touch us in a way that marks His purpose in our lives.
I currently walk with a very noticeable limp. I’ve had to face fears, insecurities, wounds, trauma, abuse and a rash of poor decisions and regrettable actions on my part. I have wrestled with God, continue to do so. And my flesh is losing the fight. That’s a good thing. It hurts. I’ll never walk the same when I’m done. But that’s a good thing. A really, really good thing. Sure beats not walking at all.
Simple question. You come across the tiger in the picture above. Obviously wounded. What would you do? Would you approach him? No? Why not? He’s wounded badly. He’s in a weakened state. And yet, he’s as wild, dangerous and deadly as he will ever be. And this much is obvious to you.
That’s the truth about being wounded.
We have grown to see wounds as black marks. As weakness. As not being worthy, or simply just not being OK. But in reality, what you see in nature, is that wounded animals don’t act weak and helpless. They are desperate and dangerous. Wild eyed, focused and clawing for life. They are more powerful than when healthy. More intimidating. More fierce.
I have wounds. So do you. And for most of my life, they have made me feel weak and less than. And like most Christians, I’ve gotten very good at suppressing them, at masking them, at insulating myself. Medicating myself. Calling upon idols and endless distractions. Comforts of everyday life. Numbing myself. After all, I couldn’t possibly embrace those wounds and speak through them. Become desperate and dangerous with my faith. Could I?
I was reading a passage tonight from Jeremiah 37:10. It says, “For though you had defeated the whole army of the Chaldeans who fight against you, and there remained only wounded men among them, they would rise up, every man in his tent, and burn the city with fire.”
I’m not a Bible scholar. So, to be honest, I can’t perfectly provide the context of this verse and the historical setting that surrounded it. But set all that aside and just read the passage. Look at the word “only” being used in italics for emphasis. A group of “only” wounded men, predicted to possess the power to burn an entire city with fire. Desperate and dangerous.
I haven’t written on this blog in over a year. Shameful. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been wrestling with lots of things. The fact of the matter, though, is I’ve been wounded. And instead of leaning into that, using it, fueling the desperation in a positive way, I’ve just medicated. Numbed myself. Compensated instead of challenged. Been a wimp instead of a warrior. Dead instead of dangerous.
I have a rekindled fire. I want to use my brokenness. My wounds. In powerful ways. The first of many being to show other people they are not alone. And that being wounded is not a sign of weakness. It’s a powerful piece of wisdom that can be used in brave, beautiful ways. I keep hearing the words, “You are not alone” rattling around in my head. I think it’s partly for me, and partly for me to say to others. So, I hope to find opportunities to do just that.
BUT, for starters. If you are out there reading this. And you’re either numbed up and feeling nothing, or very vulnerable and raw and feeling a wound that cuts deep. Let me say this. You are not alone. No matter what you have said, thought, felt or done. You are not alone. And neither am I.
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